


A nice and accurate prophecy

by Resa_Saso



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angel/Demon fluff is what I live for, Fluff, M/M, fluff fluff fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 10:08:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19129879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Resa_Saso/pseuds/Resa_Saso
Summary: How does Aziraphale react, when he finds out that there's a prediction about him and Crowley falling in love?





	A nice and accurate prophecy

Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure how to start the subject.

In fact, it seemed, he was talking about everything _but_ the subject.

Crowley was in one of his moods, looking glumly at the angel’s plate, waiting for him to finish so they could get to the drinking part, and Aziraphale ate, feeling rather uncomfortable – Which, ironically, was a first when it came to their joint lunches.

The demon seemed to notice.

“What is it with you today?” he asked, while trying to balance his fork on the tip of his nose.

Aziraphale frowned, more and attempt of stalling time to think, than out of real annoyance.

“Stop that, will you? This is an elegant place.”

Crowley rolled his eyes but complied anyway.

“Well? What is going on? You seem nervous.”

The angel sighed. Apparently, there was no way around this.

“I am not nervous. You’re just in a bad mood.”

“Yeah? Maybe that’s because my best friend is lying to me about being nervous. Is something wrong? Is it your people?”

Aziraphale looked up from his plate for the first time, now slightly offended.

“They’re not my people.”

You are, he thought, but didn’t add it to the sentence. He wasn’t scared of Crowley, not ever, he knew his friend would never hurt him, but he didn’t like him in one of these moods and he liked it even less when he deflected affection with sarcasm.

But Crowley did nothing of the sort, he just rested his chin on his fork, stabbing it into the table with _no_ regards for manners, grinning. He could even imagine seeing an amused sparkle behind the darkened sunglasses the demon was wearing.

“Nah, they’re not. Too bad for them. All mine now.”

Aziraphale blinked, once, twice, until he felt secure enough to look into Crowley’s eyes again and the shower running over him had passed.

Then smiled.

“It would seem that way. You know, I was… wondering.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows, seeming curious. “Oh?”

“Yes. Well. I was wondering about it quite a lot, actually. I have a question.”

“A question?”

“Yes. It’s… uhm…” Aziraphale took his napkin and dapped at the corners of his mouth, before laying it down again. He decided there was no right way to ask such a delicate question. Best to just get it out in the open. “Do… can demons love?”

There was a silence and it was long and uncomfortable, very much so like their dinner. Crowley stared at him for some moments, not moving, not even breathing, it seemed. Then he got up with a loud scratch of the chair over the nice wooden panelled floor and walked out of the restaurant.

Yes, Aziraphale thought. That went as well as could be expected.

 

He wasn’t hungry anymore, after that. He quickly paid for them both, then returned home with a heavy feeling in his stomach, that had nothing to do with food and everything to do with the fact that he had upset Crowley.

It was something they hadn’t talked about much. Crowley had made it his life goal to seize every single opportunity to make Aziraphale doubt God’s intentions, angel’s values and the games they were playing, and it had worked, in a way, it had opened his eyes.

But they had never talked about Crowley’s Fall or his existence as a demon. When Aziraphale had finally come to realize that his demon friend wasn’t as ceremonial evil as the others of his kind were and all the categories he had once thought in had turned into nuances and shades and he could finally see the universe for what it was… Well, he couldn’t exactly bring it up, could he?

But he was curious. Demons fell for being bad. Crowley, while certainly enjoying being bad, had never enjoyed being _evil_ , and it seemed to be something that differentiated him from the other demons.

So, he had been wondering, if, in opposite of them, he might be able to feel _love_ , as well.

Or so he had told himself.

Aziraphale sighed, staring into the glass of very exquisite (and expensive) champagne in his hand. He swirled the sparkling liquid around with slight twists of his hand but didn’t take another sip.

It just wasn’t as much fun without Crowley.

Oh, who was he kidding, really? He turned around to his working desk, where the few pages from the book that Anathema had left him, were still lying.

He was staring at the page which was turned around to face the wood now. It didn’t really matter; he had memorized it.

Aziraphale wondered why that question had upset Crowley as much as it had.

But he also wondered if that question had ever occurred to him, if it wasn’t for the fact that a witch with always accurate (he had to disagree on the ‘nice’) predictions had written down many, many years ago that they were meant to fall in love.

Most probably not.

 

He tried calling him three times that evening, all three of them drunk, because he couldn’t exactly face his guilty conscience in a sober state.

He also didn’t call three times because Crowley didn’t answer the first two times – He had answered each and every single one.  
  


I.)

“What?”

“Oh,” he brabbled into the speaker. “Oh. I did not expect… oh.”

“Is ‘Oh’ everything you have to say or is there some actual content to this call?”

“I’m sorry,” he replied, because even drunk, it felt like something he should say. “I’m sorry I called this late and I’m sorry I asked you that question. It’s none of my business.”

There was another long silence, and then Crowley growled. He could practically see the growl, could see the image of his eyes flaring up, signalling danger, could feel it sending shivers down his body.

He shouldn’t like the sound, he should run away from it and hide, but for some reason, it made his heart beat faster. Or, to be more precise – For some other reason that had nothing to do with fear.

Before he could react, however, Crowley had hung up the phone.  


II.)

“What?” Crowley answered again, a few hours later into the night, which had, at this point, stretched past the time you should call someone, especially when that someone was a demon who was currently mad at you.

“I’m sorry!” Aziraphale practically wailed into the phone, not sure what he was apologizing for this time, but very sure he didn’t bring that point across well enough last time.

“What for?” Crowley asked, every syllable emphasized with a little pause in the angry tone.

Aziraphale was sure, saying the same thing as before wasn’t a good idea, but he hadn’t exactly thought this far in his drunken state as to what he was _actually_ going to say.

“I’m sorry,” he said, slowly, trying his hardest to think in the breaks, and clear his head through the fog. He could always sober up, of course, but he didn’t feel quite ready to do that. “I’m sorry that I… talked about… something that might be hurtful to you. Like your Fall and also I’m sorry that I-“

Crowley had hung up before he could say “called you this late” again.

 

III.)

“ _What_?” Crowley greeted him, his voice practically a snarl now, three hours later. The night wasn’t a night anymore, at this point, more of an early morning.

Aziraphale was watching the scarlet sky slowly getting ready for the day.

“I’m sorry,” he assured him. “I don’t know why it upsets you, I don’t understand, I know I should, and I don’t and it’s bad, but I’m sorry. I won’t ask again, please don’t hang up.”

There was a little pause and Aziraphale stifled a cry before he heard Crowley speak and realized, that the demon had not yet hung up, but was actually thinking about what to say.

“Are you drunk?”

Relief flooded the angel at the almost conciliatory tone. This was going into the right direction, finally.

“Yes? I might have had a glass or twelve of my champagne.”

Crowley sighed, then, with another little twist of disbelief in his voice, added,

“Are you crying?”

“I… how… how do you… Well, I… I hit my foot earlier.”

Lying was not in an angel’s nature. Surely, that’s the reason he was exceptionally bad at it and surely that was the reason, Crowley, for the third time in a few hours, hang up on him.

 

And here he sat now, his shoulders sunken in, his eyes still producing that very annoying liquid that currently ran down his face – He wasn’t a stranger to crying, in no way, deep emotions was something he did quite well, but it seemed alcohol only reinforced that ability to a whole waterfall of tears, and he wasn’t exactly a fan of having a lot of deep emotions when these were _sadness_.

He couldn’t handle Crowley being mad at him all that well, could he?

With an annoyed frown, Aziraphale started sobering up. He watched the bottles refill with a sigh, relieved that a part of the deep, heart-wrenching sadness seemed to leave his metabolism with the alcohol.

Just when he had thought about showing Crowley the prophecy, he had tried so hard to understand, just when he thought about leaving the bookshop to have a conversation with him the demon couldn’t hang up on, the doorbell rang.

Aziraphale swung off the sofa, trying to wipe away the persistent tears and called “It’s closed!” through the shop, before he remembered that he had actually locked the place.

“It’s… closed?” he asked, stepping down to see who had entered, then stemmed his hands in his hips. “Did you pick my lock?”

“Miracled it open,” Crowley shrugged and stepped closer, taking off his sunglasses to look into his eyes with a quite examining stare. “Are you okay?”

Aziraphale looked at him rather sullenly.

“I’ve sobered up.”

“You have tear stains all over your face.”

“I’m alright,” the angel hurried to assure him. “Why are you here?”

Crowley shrugged. “Just wanted to see if you needed anything. What, with being hurt and all. Can you walk?”

“Walk? What do you… Oh.” Embarrassed, he rubbed the back of his head. “My foot. It doesn’t… uhm… hurt anymore. Just a slight… bruise, really.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow.

“Fine,” Aziraphale spit. “Fine. I lied. I was drunk and sad and you wouldn’t speak to me. I lied. Happy now.”

He felt oddly relieved. Lying really wasn’t something that came easy for him.

“A bit,” Crowley grinned. “Mixed with pride, really. Lying? You? I must really be a bad influence.”

Aziraphale snorted.

“You might be right with that.” He looked up at Crowley rather worried now. “Are you gonna leave now?”

“Do you want me to?”

“No. No, I would…” He took a deep breath. “Can you tell me why you were upset? So I don’t do it again?”

It was good to see that Crowley seemed more amused than angry now. He gestured for Aziraphale to follow him upstairs and they sank down on his little sofa, next to each other, so close they could barely touch but didn’t.

As usually, Crowley lay an arm down behind him, on the back of his sofa and he considered leaning back, touching him, just for the fun of it.

“Angels don’t lie, do they?“ Crowley finally asked after a little while, looking at Aziraphale intently, one eyebrow raised, as if urging him to understand something he just didn’t. “They are moral beings, good beings, pure in every aspect, always kind, always honest, always doing the right thing. That’s what makes them angels. Right?”

Aziraphale frowned, unsure what to say about that. Unsure what to think. Unsure what to reply. “Well, that’s the definition. But we both have already found out it’s not quite the truth of it.”

“Yeah,” Crowley agreed, which only confused the angel further. “But they pushed for this war because they thought it was the right thing, didn’t they? Thought it would lead to paradise, like the idiots they are. No offense,” he added with a cheeky smile that indicated, that, yes offense. “And lying would be wrong, wouldn’t it? So they don’t. Correct me if I’m wrong.”

What was this about?

Aziraphale shrugged. “They don’t. Are you trying to chastise me?”

Crowley grinned. “Not right now, I’m not. But I’ll keep the offer in mind. My point is – You just lied, right? So you _can_ lie. Mind you, you really suck at it, but you can.”

Aziraphale let the comment slide with a frown, trying to follow the gist of what Crowley was trying to tell him.

“You’re telling me… demons don’t love, but they _can_?”

He shrugged. “It’s not in our nature. Doesn’t mean we can’t do it.”

“Okay.” The angel looked a bit helpless now. He had gotten the answer to his question, he imagined, but now he had another question, a far more burning one, that still waited to be answered. “I can understand that. But why… why did this upset you so much?”

“You’re my best friend!” Crowley suddenly thundered, all his patience apparently used up. “What did you think I would feel for you, you celestial idiot?”

Aziraphale fell silent, completely unable to answer this. A shiver ran down his spine, that was partly guilt and partly the realization, that Crowley cared for him. He cared for him and he had completely disregarded every single action he had taken to prove it to him, every single word spoken to him out of this care, every single moment, affection and gesture of love. He had asked the person he was closest to for thousands of years, if he was capable of love, after having been shown his love so many times.

Heaven, he had even run to his shop early morning, just to check if he was okay after having heard he had bumped his foot!

He wanted to apologize, this time knowing exactly what for, but he was lacking the words. He just stared at Crowley, mouth hanging open, silenced.

“So yeah,” the demon ended with a shrug. “I can love.”

“I didn’t… I didn’t even think,” Aziraphale stammered. “I just thought about that prophecy and I didn’t consider… I’m sorry. I truly am. Can you forgive me?”

Crowley looked confused.

“What prophecy?”

Oops.

“No.. nothing. You know. Something about how demons… uh… love the night.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“You remember what I said about you sucking at lying?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale conceded with a sigh. “I should really stop trying that. It makes me uncomfortable, too. Anathema sent me a prophecy. About… well… us.”

Crowley waited silently.

“Yes. Well. Apparently, we’re uhm… doomed to love each other. Into eternity.”

“Doomed?” Crowley repeated tonelessly.

“Oh. No. Did I say doomed?” Aziraphale babbled, immediately cursing himself for his own insecurity and word choice, only to immediately after cursing himself for cursing. “I meant… I mean… meant to be. We’re meant to be… _in_ … love.”

Crowley scrunched up his face in confusion.

“And that was… news to you?”

“Yes!” the angel replied, surprised, before he stopped and thought about it. Thought about the last thousand years, them always meeting again, them against their own sides, them against Armageddon, them eating lunch together regularly, them drinking together in the evenings, them going into the theatre, them telling each other about their day with the idiots they never really belonged to, he thought about how he had comforted Crowley’s plants and instead of being angry, he had smiled at him affectionately, and thought about Crowley saving his books, about Crowley crying, sobbing, that he had lost his best friend and then he thought what a huge, blind, idiotic angel he was, indeed.

“No?”

Crowley laughed.

“Yes or no, what’s it to be now, angel?”

“Yes, I suppose. But it shouldn’t have been. It really shouldn’t have been.” He shook his head, angry with himself.

He expected that same anger shown on Crowley’s face when he finally dared to look up at it again, but to his surprise, he looked into an unusual soft smile, and gleaming, amused eyes.

“Took you long enough. Thought I had to wait until the end of the world or something.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth, wanted to apologize, but in one swift move, Crowley had pulled him towards him and pressed a soft kiss onto his lips, so surprisingly tender, it made Aziraphale forget how to speak.

“If I hear another ‘Sorry’ from you, I might have to rip out your wings and stuff your mouth with them, so this is the alternative,” the demon grinned.

And Aziraphale grinned back.

“Sorry,” he breathed.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” he still muttered when Crowley had pushed him into the sofa and climbed above him, kissing him harder now, just to be sure he would never, ever stop kissing him again.


End file.
